Hold On
by Keleficent
Summary: Ford has a heart attack. What could make things worse? Stan has a memory lapse at the same time (story based on ArtsyMeeShee's comic of the same name).


The view on the Stan O' War II was breathtaking. When he and Stan dreamt of sailing away into parts unknown, neither of them could have ever imagined that their view from the shores of Glass Shard Beach would pale in comparison to seeing nothing but endless ocean all around them resting underneath the pink dusk sky.

Ford couldn't believe it. He spent years of putting off their dream telling himself it was a dream he no longer wanted. He spent his life seeking fame and notoriety. What a foolish man he was. How could he ever think being praised by a room of stuffy scientists could ever compare to the warmth he felt watching his brother breathe in the sea air as he manned the steering wheel?

His heart swelled with emotion, so much so that his chest felt heavy. So heavy it started to hurt. Wait, that wasn't right. It wasn't…

Stan had his eyes closed enjoying feeling at peace for once in his life. That peace was short-lived when he heard a loud thud behind him. He turned around to see Ford on the ground clutching his chest.

"Oh my god, Ford!" Stan rushed to his brother's side and wrapped his arms around him to support him. "Ford, hey, c'mon, Ford talk to me. What do I do? Tell me what to do."

"St…Stanley…" Ford's eyelids were dropping. He knew he may not wake up if he falls asleep. He tried to keep his eyes open by looking at Stan, but his brother's face was starting to blur.

"C'mon, Sixer. Stay with me. You stay with me, you hear? Don't give up on me! Ford? STANFORD!"

Ford didn't want to give up. He wanted to stay with Stan. But he lost the fight as his brother's voice faded into blackness.

When Ford came to, his chest still hurt but he could breathe a little more easily. In one of his attempts to open his eyes all the way, he caught of brief glimpse of his brother kneeling above him. "Stan…"

Before Ford faded into oblivion, he heard Stan's response, and it rattled him more than any heart attack could.

"Who's Stan?"

The man lying on the floor didn't answer him. It looked like he lost consciousness again. Again? Yes, again. He lost consciousness when he was…when they were…

He couldn't remember. The last thing he remembered was feeling overwhelmed and panicked by…something. His head hurt like whatever freaked him out had fried his brain.

He had a feeling it had something to do with the man in front of him. He didn't look too good. He was breathing hard and obviously in pain. And he was worried about him.

As he stared at the man, flashes came through his mind of him pushing hard against the man's chest. They came and went so fast he didn't have time to put the pieces together. There was an open bottle of aspirin on the floor. The contents inside were spilled all over the floor as though someone had opened the bottle in a frantic hurry.

He was so confused. What had just happened? He went to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration only to feel moisture gathered in his eyes. He had been crying. What made him cry?

Whatever had happened before, one thing was clear right now: this man needed help, and there was no one around to give help but him.

But how can he help him? He wasn't a doctor. Or was he? He didn't think so, but even if he was, he wasn't remembering anything useful right now, nothing that will keep him from dying.

The thought chilled him to the core. He didn't understand why. He didn't even know this guy, yet the thought of him dying terrified him.

"Please don't die." The words came out of his mouth quiet and desperate. It didn't matter who he was or what his relationship to this man was. All that mattered was keeping him safe.

He didn't want to leave the man's side, but he needed to find help. As he looked around, he quickly discovered that they were on a boat, and they were the only two on board: an old man clinging to life and an amnesiac.

He looked over the railing and was alarmed by what he saw. It was the unconscious man staring back up at him. Except it wasn't, it was his own reflection. He looked exactly like the man he's trying to take care of.

They had to be related. Brothers, possibly. No, brothers, definitely. Definitely? Yes, definitely. It was the first thing he's felt "definitely" about.

His brother, the man who was going to die on his watch was his own brother.

He figured it was probably not a good idea to leave his brother lying on a wooden floor. He took his brother's arm and draped it over his shoulder to help hoist him up. He led them to the bedroom. Wait, he knew where the bedroom was! That was a good sign, right?

There was a bunk bed. Why did two old men sleep in a bunk bed? His first instinct was that his brother was supposed to go on the top bunk. He dismissed the idea realizing how absurd it was to try to take an infirm man to the top of a bunk bed.

He laid his brother on the bed and tucked the blanket around him. His brother's face was scrunched up in distress and he was whimpering in pain. All he could think to do was hold his brother's hand.

"Stan…Stanley…"

Stanley? Was that his name?

His brother opened his eyes a slit and looked over at him. "Stanley…"

Yep, that was his name. But what was his brother's name?

"Stanley, do…do you know who I am?"

Stanley's cluelessness must have been printed all over his face. He inspected his brother looking for any hint of what his name might be. The idea was ridiculous. What did he expect to find, a name tag?

"Stanley, please come back to me. You can't leave, not now."

His brother looked so helpless and scared. Stanley didn't want to put any more stress on his frail heart. If he started panicking, he might make things worse. He had to comfort him, but how could he comfort someone whose name he didn't even know?

He needed to think of something fast. He noticed his brother had six fingers. He knew that wasn't normal. Those six fingers brought forth something: "Sixer."

His brother calmed a little after hearing that name. That must be it. But what a weird name. Sixer? Did their parents hate Sixer or something? He was glad he wasn't given a dopey name, like Dipper or something.

Whoa, that was a random thought. The name "Dipper" came unnaturally fast like it meant something to him. He didn't have time to figure out what, though. He had to focus on Sixer.

"Sixer, you're…you're gonna be okay. You just gotta hold on."

"I…I don't know if…if I can, Stanley."

"Yes, you can, Sixer. You gotta hold on for…for Dipper." Stanley took a shot in the dark and threw the name out hoping it meant something to Sixer too. The look of recognition told Stanley the name landed.

"Tell…tell Dipper and Mabel that…that I love them."

Dipper and Mabel…they were their uncles…great uncles…Grunkles. Grunkle Stan, that was him. And his brother, he was their Grunkle Six…no, he was…

"Ford." All the memories came bursting to the surface. Stan knew who he was, who his brother was, and who his family was. With this revelation also came the crushing knowledge of what he was about to lose.

"Did you hear me, Stanley? I said..."

"I heard what you said. I just…I don't know why you're telling me." Stan crossed his arms and looked away in annoyance hoping Ford didn't notice his eyes tearing up. "You can tell them next time we see them."

"Stanley…"

"I don't wanna hear it, Stanford. You'll see them again. You just gotta hold on. Hold on for Dipper and Mabel." Stan bit his trembling lip. "And for me."

"I'll…I'll try."

Ford went back to sleep, and Stan watched over him. He only left Ford's side to make sure the Stan O' War II was on course to the nearest body of land where he could get Ford medical attention.

Stan slumped in his chair, one hand holding Ford's and the other over his mouth, fearing his brother's weakened heart would finally give out.

Until his brother started to stir. Except this time, he was able to keep his eyes open and looked halfway lucid.

Stan nearly knocked his chair over he got up so fast. "Ford?"

"Hngh…S-Stanley?"

"Ford! Thank Moses, you're okay. You nearly scared me to death."

"What happened?" Ford was able to sit up. The pain in his chest had subsided.

"You had a heart attack and lost consciousness. You were barely breathing and I thought you were…" Stan sounded close to hyperventilating, and Ford knew a panic attack meant he would likely have another memory lapse. He could already see his eyes growing wide and showing signs of losing reality.

Ford put his hand on his brother's shoulder. Stan gave a small jerk like a boat would give when an anchor stops it from sailing away. "But I'm here. I'm alive and breathing because of you, Stanley."

He opened his arms for Stan to come in for a hug. Stan wrapped his arms around his brother. "I was so scared, Ford. I thought I lost you again."

Ford vaguely remembered Stan caring for him as he slipped in and out of consciousness. One part that stuck out to him was Stan not seeming to know his name. Ford thought he was a goner and tried to make sure Stan got his memories back before he died. If not, there would have been no one to help Stan remember.

"As did I."

Still, Ford was moved by the thought that Stan looked after him even when he wasn't himself. There were loving and selfless parts of Stan's nature that not even the memory gun could erase.

They will live with the after-effects of Weirdmageddon for the rest of their lives. But as long as they had each other, they always had something to hold on to.


End file.
